


Litost: Too Sick To Pray

by shadowlev



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alpha Bollig, Alpha Hossa, Alpha Toews, Alpha/Omega, Consensual Infidelity, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fisting, Internalized Homophobia, Knotting, M/M, Multi, Omega Frolik, Pack Dynamics, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Acceptance, Self-Denial, Self-Discovery, Sexual Harassment, trade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:48:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowlev/pseuds/shadowlev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Frolik takes his hormone suppressors twice a day, every day. He'd done so from the time his doctor pronounced him a true omega, heeded the warnings from his solemn father that this could be the ruin of his hockey career. For ten years, not a soul save for his family doctor and father knew he was an omega. He'd hoped to keep it that way. </p>
<p>He screws up one day. His precious pills fall out of his bag. His body revolts against his prayers and drags him into his first heat. Marian Hossa catches him before he falls to pieces and carries him through the experience. His first heat and the response he receives from his team open his eyes and begin him down the path of self-discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Totally Fucked

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in the 2013 shortened season and continues until present. 
> 
> I have taken artistic liberty in the runnings of pro-hockey teams since I know jack about it. Just like I've taken artistic liberty with the characters in this fic. These are figments of my imagination, based on real people, but set in an alternate dimension that exists solely in the mind. 
> 
> In this alpha/omega universe, there are few true alphas and fewer true omegas. Most people have alpha or omega tendencies, but don't have the full out physiology of alphas and omegas. I explain a little more about this later on.

When Michael first becomes a Blackhawk, it’s just off the year they win the Stanley Cup. He comes in after the team has been dismantled, the dynamic entirely shifted, and everyone is needing to get to know each other. He finds himself in the same position as he has always faced, the quiet guy with an aura that puts people off. Being a true omega will do that to you, despite being on hormone suppressers.

  
He joins in to team bonding sessions and puts in his all. There are a few people that he manages to befriend; Hossa, Kruger, and Stalberg. He joins in on game nights and bar nights. Quiet in the locker room, he doesn’t make a big impression on everybody. Basically, Michael tries to keep a low profile, something hammered into him by his father for years. The less of an impression that he makes, the less likely the truth about him being a true omega will come out.

  
Of course, Michael has a nose. He can smell the few teammates with alpha tendencies, the few with omega tendencies. He even suspects that Toews and Bollig are true alphas. The fierce protectiveness for the team and care-taker tendencies comes too easily. Likely, they are on suppressers as well, less potent ones to even the competition and prevent them from getting out of control. True alphas are more readily accepted into sports than true omegas. True alphas are more readily accepted into society in general.

  
Michael remembers the horror stories told to him by his solemn father, of omegas being raped when they went into heat, of getting pregnant, of being called names and picked on, that they never did well. He remembers hearing how there has never been an open omega hockey player. He remembers the harsh laughter of old teammates when they talked about omegas going into heat, being so loose, so easy, and how they ridiculed the physiological processes involved (neediness, wantonness, the loosening and slickening of the asshole). He remembers to take his pills. Religiously. Twice a day. Every day since he reached the age of puberty and his scent confirmed his status as a true omega.

  
Which is why he panics when he roots through his bag in the hotel room and cannot find his pills. He furiously upends the entire bag on his bed, to the curiosity of Marcus on the other bed. The swede is nursing one last celebratory beer after they defeated the Preds and watching as Michael curses and pats through his things another ten times before slumping on the bed with his head on his hands.  
“Lose something?” Marcus asks politely. Michael bobs his head. It wouldn’t do to tell his roommate that he was panicking about missing “vitamins”. He prays, begs, implores to God that he will be able to get back to Chicago and get his back-up pills before anyone notices. Or he goes into heat.

  
As he wakes up the next day to get on the flight back to Chicago, he realizes that he will have no such luck. His insides are groaning around and he feels like he has the flu. Cold sweat sluices down his neck and he shivers violently despite the heavy blankets. A solid erection has formed between his legs and, worst of all, he smells. Michael thanks God for small favors that Marcus is still asleep and gets in the shower. He jerks off furiously and spends half an hour lathering and relathering to try to get the stink of omega estrus off. His asshole is moist with slick and he tries to wash it off without actually touching it. He clambers out of the shower and dries off, stuffing the towel under the toilet where he hopes the smell will be covered.

  
“Dude,” Marcus yells, “I have to piss and shower.”

  
“Almost done!” Michael calls back as he struggles into two pairs of underwear and pants, but not before swiping some deodorant between his thighs, then under his arms as well. He leaves the bathroom without his shirt on and smiles uneasily as Marcus pushes past him looking like the living dead.

  
He quickly finishes dressing and sprays a hefty coat of body spray on before tugging on a thick hoodie over his dress clothes. He settles his hat on and leaves the room before Marcus is out of the shower.

  
It doesn’t help that the heat makes him antsy, pacing around outside listening to his mp3 player. He’s the first one on the bus and takes a seat in the far back. As Blackhawks slowly trickle sleepily on the bus, he nods to them and hopes he looks inconspicuous.

  
Before Toews gets on the bus, tousle headed and bleary-eyed, he had just convinced himself he might just get away with it. Airports are loaded with people, so heat scent would be impossible to pinpoint. Those hopes are killed when Toews eyes sharpen immediately and his nostrils flare. Bollig and Shaw clamber on the bus next with giant grins on their faces as they give each other shit. Bollig halts in his place, eyes going big and dark, so fast that Shaw smacks into him.

  
Bollig and Toews share a significant look.

  
“Let’s sit down, Mutt,” Bollig murmurs softly, in a no-nonsense tone. Toews edges around the enforcer and heads into the building, hand up around his nose. Bollig goes to sit next to Shaw, nostrils flaring. Michael curses silently when Shaw sits in front of him to talk to Saad. When Bollig reaches the back of the bus, his eyes focus knowingly on Michael. He gives the PK forward a knowing look and a smile of compassion before sitting down.

  
A whiff of alpha scent, rich and redolent with confidence, hits him in the face. He leans forward a little, eyes closed, and feeling a little drunk. He craves that scent and it alleviates the pain in his abdomen. He hungers for more.

  
A touch of a gentle hand on his head shocks him back to his conscious. His eyes shoot open. Bollig is giving him a worried look that masks a similar desire, tightly reigned in under iron control. For a second, they’re the only ones who exist.

  
“You ok, Fro Fro? Your pupils are blown and you’re all flushed,” Shaw throws in. Michael then notices how all his teammates near him are staring, confused. Some are sniffing the air curiously.  
Suddenly, the winger can’t handle it. He shoots out of his seat and trots up to the front of the bus. He waits until he’s off the bus before he starts hyperventilating and longs for a corner to curl up in, longs for someone to protect him. Hates himself for being so weak.

  
He is making a beeline for the bathroom when he runs head-on into Hoss. The older redhead cushions the impact, hands hanging on to Michael firmly. His large but gentle hands tangle in Michael’s brown locks. He speaks quietly, soothingly, and does not let go of the Czech. Michael inhales deeply, smelling the suppressed smell of alpha, the quiet steadiness, the silent control.

  
“Michael, its ok, take a deep breath,” Hoss murmurs softly, his hand applying pressure to the back of Michael’s neck, bringing his face down to the comforting broad shoulder. Michael inhales deeply and feels the utter panic slowly trickle out of him. The scent soothes his aching body.

  
“So you are a true omega, very rare, very precious, how long have you been on suppressers?” Hoss continues murmuring, only loud enough for Michael to hear.

  
“Ten years, couldn’t find them last night,” Michael says quietly. Hoss nods, stroking Michael’s arm lightly. He even rocks a bit, as if Michael were a crying child or woman. Not that it doesn’t help calm him.

  
“When was your last heat?”

  
“I’ve never had one,” Michael confesses. Hoss freezes for a moment before whistling low and clucking his tongue.

  
“Is not healthy for you. You will be in for a rough first heat. Would you like me to take care of you during this time?” the redhead asks quietly. Michael feels a wave of relief wash over him, but worry tugs it in a bit.

  
“What about Jana?” he asks. Hoss lets out a huff of amusement.

  
“Is not the same as infidelity. Women view this as completely separate from desire for other women. We have discussed it before, but I will of course talk to her first,” the big man says as he slowly releases Michael until only a heavy arm rested atop his shoulder.

  
“I-I cannot get pregnant,” Michael whispers, “I don’t have birth control…”

  
“I know ways around that,” Hossa reassures the brunette, leading him firmly toward the bus. Toews, Sharp, and Crawford all stand in a huddle outside the bus, waiting for them to get out. Michael blushes and averts his eyes. A waft of heady alpha scent comes over him and the last few cramps alleviate into little pangs. Crawford reaches up and tangles his fingers into Michael’s hair with a kind smile. Sharp gives him a look that Michael can’t interpret.

  
“We alerted general managers about the predicament. No official morning skate for you, Fro, so take the time to get through it before the next game,” Sharp says in hushed tones, utterly serious, before giving him a small grin, “Didn’t know we had a true omega on our team. Doesn’t impact any of our views of you, so don’t worry about it.”

  
Toews smiles tightly and smacks him affectionately on the arm before he goes off to find Kane. Michael smells the waves of desire coming off the captain. It was likely only the suppressers that allowed Toews to be near him for so long.

  
Hossa ushers him on the bus, back to where his seat is. Crawford follows suit and sits opposite of the two. Bollig shares a significant look with Hoss over the top of Shaw’s head. Michael settles heavily up against the bigger redhead and tries to keep himself calm.

  
By the time they get into the air, Michael is in full blown heat. His ass is wet through the three layers that he put on that morning. Waves of desire so powerful that they hurt rolled up through the Czech, provoking little whimpers out of his mouth against his will. A fever burns in his very core and it is all he can do not to bend over in the middle of the plane and beg that someone, anyone, fuck him. By this time, other members of the team have realized what the situation is and shoot him looks of sympathy.

  
When the seatbelt sign has come off, Hoss unbuckles him and maneuvers the two so Michael’s face is pressed into the crook of his long neck, long legs sprawled across Hoss’s legs. Cramps eek their way up through his abdomen. Goosebumps prick up his skin. Michael feels like he is in hell, but the soothing scent that Hoss is emanating, coupled with the warm hand on his cramping abdomen, gets him through the flight without causing a scene.

  
Crawford and Sharp sit in the two seats in front of them, Bollig and Shaw across the aisle, and Keith and Seabrook in front of them. There is a blockade of Blackhawks around the whimpering omega, daring someone to comment. Crawford occasionally extends a hand back to pet Michael soothingly. Sharp gets the stewardess to bring a blanket. A portion of the self-hatred for being an omega lessens with the team barricading him in. He feels protected, like part of the pack.

  
Toews and Kane are sitting as far away as possible, with Toews breathing through his hoodie. Kane make his way back with a soft grin on his face.

  
“Sorry about Tazer, he feels bad about leaving you like this and doesn’t mean to give you the wrong impression. He’s on really weak suppressors and your scent is driving him nuts. He assures you that everything is cool with him,” Kane says quietly before licking his lips contemplatively and adding, “And everything’s cool with me. Sorry you’re down for the count, Fro,”

  
Michael nods sharply and gives out a pathetic smile as Kane makes his way back to Toews. By the time they’ve been in the plane for an hour, he’s curled in Hoss’s lap, biting his hand to stifle the moans that he can’t seem to control. He’s not a small guy either, but Hoss keeps him locked up in his lap with strong arms.

  
When the plane lands, Hoss guides him through O’Hare with a hand on the small of his back. A couple men look up sharply, but immediately back away when they get a Slovakian death stare. Hoss shuffles him into a cab and they head back to Michael’s apartment. On the way there, Hossa talks to his wife in low tones, explaining the situation. She gives him the green light and tells Michael to not be shy. Tells him that he is invited over after for dinner sometime, as if he’d ever be able to look her in the eye knowing that she knew that her husband had fucked him.

  
As soon as they get into Michael’s apartment, Hoss begins stripping the young forward’s clothes off. Michael’s too busy clutching at his lover’s arms to be much of a help, tremors nearly unbalancing him. Little pleas are streaming out of his mouth as Hoss’s surprisingly light touch gets him out of his clothing. The pants and boxer briefs come off last, until Michael is completely naked before the redhead.

  
Hoss uprights himself and kisses him softly, urging him towards the bedroom. Along the way, Michael palms the mature Slovak’s hardening dick through his pants. They still manage to get into the bedroom despite Michael’s “help.” Michael isn’t very neat, so the bed isn’t made, but by now he’s lost all semblance of shame. His hips are wriggling with impatient need.

  
Two fingers dip into his loose, wet hole briefly before sliding in easily. Michael shudders intensely as the need to be penetrated is accommodated, pleasure surging up through him. Hoss sits on the bed and has Michael lean over his knees, supporting his torso on the bed. His back arches, pushing his ass in the air like a cat stretching.

  
“I told you I have ways to get you through your heat without knotting you. I am going to put my hand inside, is that ok?” Hoss explains softly, rubbing his free hand up and down the sweating, trembling back of the brunette. Michael nods frantically, chocolate hair flying everywhere. He’s just desperate to be filled, stretched, knotted, claimed. He would let a stranger fuck him. He would get pregnant. Right now, his mind is working entirely on instinct and desire.

  
Hoss takes his time stretching Michael out with each additional finger, all the while murmuring soothing praises. When he gets to the thumb, Michael begins to let out high pitched moans, cock pressing achingly hard against Hoss’s thigh. When the widest part of Hoss’s hand pops inside Michael, he comes violently, splattering the big forward’s dress pants with cum. Waves upon waves of pleasure crash through his body and he clenches down violently on the hand inside of him. Hoss holds him down through his aftershocks and waits patiently for the Czech to settle down before moving the rest of his hand up to his wrist into the lubricated hole.

  
“Good boy,” the Slovak murmurs softly as he begins to gently slide his fist in and out of the brunette’s asshole. Michael lets loose a slew of moans. Hossa keeps him over his lap for several more orgasms until he finally slides his fist out of Michael’s exhausted body.

  
Michael realizes at this time just how hard Hoss has gotten, pressed up against his lower belly. ¬¬Sliding Michael onto his stomach, Hossa leaves to wash his hand and get a glass of water. He returns completely naked, flushed completely pink, cock standing hard at attention. He lets Michael drink before straddling the backs of his thighs and rutting into the slick crease of the brunette’s ass. His dick slides easily between Michael’s ass cheeks. Michael moans at the friction against his loose rim and ruts in turn against the bed, fingers clenched in the rumpled sheet. He doesn’t have any cum left, but he manages an orgasm as Hossa comes across his back. A warm washcloth appears on his back and ass, cleaning off traces of slick and cum. Michael slurps down the water Hoss got for him before the redhead pulls him back down and spoons up behind him.

  
The cum covered sheet falls to the ground and sleep comes up on Michael in a powerful way. Exhaustion of the day comes upon him and he slips away before Hossa has time to cover their sweat chilled bodies in the relatively clean blanket.


	2. Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty much all sex and the plot will come next chapter. More characters and pairings will be forth coming. Thank you for reading and leaving me kudos. I know it's a strange fic, I wasn't even going to post it, but I will keep up the writing.

            Michael awakens at dawn, blinking at the piercing sun coming through the blinds, with the same aching desire between his legs. He whimpers quietly and presses back into the warmth of his lover, asshole dripping wet down his thighs. Hoss snores softly in his ear for a few minutes of this before snorting lightly awake and drowsily reaching down to toy at the still loose opening hidden by the firm hockey ass. Three fingers slip in easily and Michael lets out a relieved sigh. Hoss wastes no time in adding more fingers until he slides his fist up inside of the young omega.

            Michael cries out as the fist moves in and out of him, fingers clenching at the pillow and sheet. Pleasure courses through his entire system, rapidly bringing him off. Hoss continues fist-fucking him through two orgasms, cock thick and pressing against the small of Michael’s back, smearing pre-cum wetly across his skin. After the second orgasm, Michael feels the edge of desire wearing off and reaches behind him to take Hoss’s cock in hand. It feels distinctly different from his own. Still, he jerks off his lover the way he likes to touch himself. The knot swells larger at the base of the cock, expanding as the redhead nears orgasm, and Michael squeezes it hard involuntarily. The large forward groans and bites down hard on his neck as he comes, hard enough to bruise. To break skin. Another wave of pleasure floods through Michael’s worn out nerves.

            Hoss kisses the speck of blood away before rolling off the bed and heading to the shower. Michael’s senses start coming back to him and he realizes how filthy he is. His thighs are slick and his front and back are coated with drying cum. With a grimace, he clambers out of his bed and reaches into a deep stretch, surprising himself by how far he can arch backward. He scratches his head, scrunches up his nose, and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he stares at his bedroom.

            Grimacing at the state of the bed, Michael strips it down and pushes it into his laundry sack. He makes the bed up with older sheets that he rarely ever uses due to the offsetting red color and small hole at the foot of the bed. Tucks in the ends and digs out several old blankets from his closet to dump on top. With the bed looking put together, Michael looks around his room and frowns before picking up the rest of his dirty laundry. He opens the window to let the cold air take care of some of the rampant sex scent.

            By the time Hoss gets out of the shower, the bedroom looks more put together than it had been since he moved in. Hoss comes out wearing his outfit from the day before, having soaked his pants to get rid of the noticeable cum stains that Michael had left all over them the night before. He grabs Michael by the fine hairs at the scruff of his neck and kisses him firmly, affectionately, but not overly sexual. Michael feels some of the jitteriness wear away.

It’s a bit unsettling how quickly he and Hoss had gone from close friends and a sort of mentor relationship to this step above. However, of all the people that could see him like this, this pathetic needy wreck, Michael was glad it was Hoss. He knew the man wouldn’t say anything and obviously he wasn’t creeped out by it. If anything, Hoss was into it.

            “I have practice and need to head home to change. Will you be alright until then?” Hoss asks carefully.

            “Yeah, I should be, I just need to tidy up in here,” Michael says, “Thank you for doing this.”

            “My pleasure,” Hoss says with a smirk, ruffling Michael’s hair and sending him off to shower with a smack on the ass. Michael hops quickly under the hot water for several long minutes before lathering up and washing the dried fluids off. As he dries off, he realizes that the bathroom has fallen into disarray. With a frown, he quickly begins to throw out the bottles of empty soap from the corner of his shower and spray down the sides with cleaning fluid, scrubbing the soap scum and beginnings of black mold from the tile. His toilet is next, then the sink.

            Remembering that he has dirty laundry, he throws on a pair of shorts and t-shirt before hauling them down the stairs to the laundry machines. Heading back up, he begins to clean his kitchen before his alarm goes off to tell him his laundry was finished. Then he hauls it back up to fold and put away. At this time, he’s beginning to feel heated and prickly, so he takes his clothes back off and continues cleaning au natural.

            Hoss opens the door an hour or so later, a reusable shopping bag in one hand and a paper bag in the other and takes in the sight. Michael is furiously polishing the coffee table, flushed bright red with his hair jutting out in many different directions. Fluid shines between his thighs, his cock hard, and he’s biting his lip uncomfortably. Setting the bags on the floor, Hossa calmly places his hand on the small of Michael’s back. The brunette averts his eyes to the floor, inadvertently exposing the dark bite Hoss had left that morning. The redhead kisses it gently and pushes Michael forward, making him kneel on the floor in front of it and bend over the now clean coffee table.

            Hoss spreads him open to stare at the clenching, slick asshole, reaching forward and inhaling the heat scent deeply before beginning to lick Michael’s thighs clean. The brunette flails around before latching his hands on the edge of the coffee table and spreading his legs wantonly. Hoss takes his time, licking the sensitive skin in long strokes, dipping his tongue in and out until Michael cums with a cry, banging his head against the coffee table in his ecstasy. Hoss pulls back and wipes his chin.

            “I bought alpha condoms if you want to be knotted,” he says softly, squeezing the meat of Michael’s firm ass. A stream of pleas flood out of Michael’s mouth, so Hoss leans to the side and digs the box out of the re-usable shopping bag. He nudges Michael’s legs wider while shuffling his pants down and giving his cock a firm stroke before sliding the alpha condom on. They were specially designed to contain the high semen volume without slipping off the knot.

            Hoss kneels behind Michael’s spread legs and quickly mounts him, impaling the young forward in one smooth thrust. Michael gasps and wriggles his hips, begging for more. Hoss leans over the smooth, muscled back before him and nips at the bruise he’d left. He waits until Michael calms before drawing back and beginning an easy rhythm. Michael cums within three thrusts, clamping down even tighter onto Hoss’s cock. Hoss groans and keeps thrusting right through it, fucking the orgasm out of the brunette.

            “You good, you so good,” Hoss gasps out, hands reaching down to grip Michael’s thighs in a bruising vice, “You’re part of my pack now. If I could, I would breed you well.” Michael moans at the words and arches his back, aching for a deeper thrust.

            As Hoss’s thrusts become sloppier, Michael feels himself getting closer to yet another orgasm. As Hoss begins to cum, Michael feels himself tipping at the edge. When the hard knot presses his hole open, plugging him, stretching him, he cums yet again. Only a few drops of clear fluid eek out of his cock, but his entire body convulses. This was much better than fisting. This was what his body craved. Only his body craved more, craved to be fucked bare, to be stoppered up when he was filled with cum, to be impregnated. That, Michael thinks, he would never be able to allow.

            They pant together for a while, tied together by the knot. Hoss blankets his body atop Michael’s, running his hands up and down the brunette’s arms and sides.

            “Jana cooked food for us and wrapped it up well. It should still be warm by the time we are unknotted,” Hoss murmurs softly. Michael braces his elbows up on the table, knees getting sore from all the pressure. Hoss sat back on his thighs and tugs him closer, wrapping an arm around his chest.

            “She is ok with all of this?” Michael asks tentatively. Hoss hums affirmatively. A light vibration goes through Michael’s body, letting him know the big forward is chuckling.

            “Like I said, women find alpha and omega interactions at worst fascinating and at best arousing. When I met Jana, I was very open about being a true alpha and how it affected me. I was traded around a lot until I found powerful enough suppressers to not throw off the team dynamic. With two alphas on the Blackhawks, I could easily shift into rank. It took a while to find the right pack dynamic. And there are plenty of players with omega tendencies, I knew you were one, although I never suspected you to be a true omega,” Hoss murmurs conversationally. Michael bites his lip and decides to hell with it. Nothing to be embarrassed about anymore.

            “I am on the highest suppressers that are legally allowed, so only a few of my tendencies come out. I am intuitive and listen to direction easily. When my father found I was omega, he was very ashamed and told me not to let others know. My family doctor back home prescribes my medication so none of the doctors are aware of it, and it isn’t like there are required tests for it,” Michael shrugs, “Just want to play hockey, but I keep getting bounced around teams. I have a feeling that I won’t be on the Blackhawks for much longer. These past few years I haven’t been playing so hot.”

            “If this happens, you are still part of my pack. Perhaps you will find the right team dynamic for you to excel with. Your PK skills are already incredibly useful to us,” Hoss murmurs softly as he shifted, knot starting to shrink, “Ok, I am going to pull out before it gets too small and the condom falls out.”

            Michael leans forward and feels the knot slide out of him. Hoss tosses the condom and brings the paper bag over. Underneath the three layers of dishcloths, the food is still warm. They sit on the couch and devour the dumplings and chicken schnitzel, talking about strategy for the game on Monday. After the dishes are washed and put away, they retreat to the bedroom.

            The rest of the day passes in a haze of fucking and napping. They force themselves to break for dinner to replenish some of the calories that they burn from all the rigorous sexual activity. Michael’s food delivery service dropped his order off in the middle of a knot, leaving some of the food to defrost, so he makes salmon and peppery asparagus. In the middle of the meal, Hoss looks up at him.

            “You need to take a break from your medication every few months,” he said seriously, “Otherwise your hormones will become seriously out of whack and you may permanently injure yourself. I take summers off my medication and occasionally a weekend or two. Normal heats last one night at most and it looks like this one will last until tomorrow. Either find an alpha or come to me. Most heats aren’t as bad as yours was, will give you more warning, and won’t cause you to miss out on practices. Definitely get one in right before the playoffs,” Hoss advises solemnly. Michael nods, staring into his food. This is something that he will have to seriously think about.

            “How do you know this much?” he asks after swallowing a mouthful, “It really wasn’t taught in school. Just a broad overview of anatomy for all the tendencies.”

            “Normally true alphas and omegas are enrolled in a special course, at least that’s what happened when I went to school, and you learn more of the biology of heats and birth control and etiquette and such,” Hoss murmurs through a bite, waving his fork around, “Did they get rid of that?”

            “I knew a couple alphas that had to take the course, but no omegas. I didn’t exactly tell anyone either,”

            “All the forms are usually sent home for the parents to sign and send back,”

            “My father might have gotten it, but probably didn’t submit it. He didn’t want it to ruin my chances at hockey or happiness if others found out,” Michael says softly, staring down at his food. His dad had gone through all that hard work and now it was dashed. With a grimace, he pushes away his food. He’s also becoming uncomfortably aroused again, despite the marathon sex they’d had all day and the current conversation.

            “Hey,” Hoss says firmly in his quiet manner, “It’s a matter of biology. Nobody is going to fault you for it, at least in America. As long as you can take hits and make goals, the NHL doesn’t care what your gender is. Do some research into your body after your heat. I know your father was looking out for your best interests, but you also need to take control of your body and know what it does and how the world will respond. Likely, you’ll end up happier.”

            Michael nods again slowly. He would keep an open mind, as the past day had exceeded his expectations. It depended on the team’s reaction. Still, he squirms in his seat. Hoss grins at him.

            “Time to take care of that itch again?” he asks teasingly, lightening the mood, moving to stand up. Michael blushes a bit, but grins right back.

            “Only if you’re capable of scratching it,” he shoots back, rising from his seat.

            They meet in the middle, pushing the old athletic shorts and ratty t-shirts off and out of the way. A fierce bite to the neck leaves Michael gasping again, limbs going loose so that Hoss can spin him around and press him down against the table between the mostly empty dishes. They left the alpha condoms in easy reach, so Hoss expertly rolls one on before rutting up against Michael’s ass.

            One swift thrust has Michael up on his toes, gripping the table edge as the wonderful stretch filled him with sharp pleasure. A hand slides down to grip his hip, holding him against the table edge, and the other flies up to tangle in his hair. A yank on his brown locks has him rolling his eyes and curling his toes as an orgasm rips through him easily, which Hoss rides him through roughly, all while pushing and pulling and holding him down.

            They end up knotting against the kitchen table, swatting at that one random fly that Michael never seems to be able to kill away from the leftovers. Still, the sheer act of knotting fills a deep emptiness that has plagued Michael his entire life. They don’t talk through it, just rest against each other and share their body heat between them. Their breathing syncs and they become one. After Hoss pulls out, Michael stows the leftovers away and they head toward the bedroom once more.

 


	3. Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More characters to come. I guess I should probably warn you that Frolik bounces around in the pairings. I will also warn you that there is attempted rape in upcoming chapters. Consent in this universe is very shaky.
> 
> Uuuuh, this is not beta'd so please excuse any errors. I switched over to a different tense after the first chapter and have had to change it all back as I go through editing.

Chapter 3

            Michael’s heat cools the next morning. One rough bout of fucking leaves him completely satisfied and he stops producing lubrication. Hoss nips him on the neck, pats him on the head, and tells him that he needs to get back to Jana and Mia. Michael nods and thanks him again before rolling over and going to sleep for another hour before he has to get up and shower. They have a game at 7:30pm and he has to be at the United Center by 5:00pm.

            He experiences some of the other unpleasant aspects of being off suppressers such as the constipation and desire to eat an entire chocolate cake. With a grimace, he goes to shower and clean up some of the mess that has accumulated in the day and a half long sex marathon. His bottle of extra hormone suppressers, disguised as vitamins, lay in his bedside table.

            It’s not like he hasn’t gotten curious, looking things up online, but he’d mainly been a teenager and just got disgusted at what they talked about, about the way omegas acted in the heat porn he’d found. He’d just wanted to play hockey and was fine with taking the pills every day of his life and just ignoring that part of himself that he always viewed as a flaw. Now, having experienced the rush of hormones, the waves of desire, the feeling of complete satisfaction, despite the pains, he doesn’t think he could go back. He also doesn’t think his teammates would approve of him going back. Hoss would be pissed for sure. No, he’d be disappointed and that was much worse.

            He pulls up several sites on his laptop, most just glazing over the vague details like what they had taught him as a kid. Some are scientific articles that are way too dense for him both as a hockey player and as a non-native English speaker. Finally, he finds one that actually describes what happens to him. In a side window, he opens up a translator for the words he doesn’t know in English.

            Skipping over the evolutionary reasoning and history behind true omegas, he scrolls directly to the physiological occurrences. The heat was triggered by an upsurge of estrogen and a newly isolated hormone called erestrogen. These caused an enormous increase in sex drive and provoked the body to undergo changes. The cloaca, as they termed it, became lubricated and the muscles relaxed and became elastic. The individual became incredibly submissive and wanton, as to deny intercourse was quite uncomfortable. Knotting was essential and alpha knots were quite large to hold the semen in the cloaca to increase likelihood of fertilization.

            Alpha hormones, testosterone and mastosterone, helped soothe the discomfort, but it was possible to get through a heat without an alpha, given the right tools. Omegas were able to orgasm multiple times per penetration and have several penetrations a day without growing sore. Alphas could have increased stamina in respect to these changes with increased sperm output.

            Michael keeps scrolling. He’s already experienced some of this and doesn’t know if the biology is essential knowledge. The next section is the aftereffects. The following week, the omega would have increased intuitiveness and decreased balance. This was the time when the body determined whether or not fertilization had occurred. Constipation would continue during this week. Cravings for sugar and protein would be prevalent as the body tried to bulk up for pregnancy. Nutrient rich blood would line the womb during this time.

            After this week or so was over and there was no sign of impregnation, the body would menstruate. A bowel movement and blood would come out of the cloaca. Irritability and cramps were common. This period of menstruation would last anywhere from 3-7 days. Michael grimaces and keeps reading.

            Hormone suppression prevents heats, which normally occur 4 weeks after menstruation ends and last a day, and the majority of true omegas rely on at least some type even if just to mellow the symptoms. It was advised to have one heat every three months at the least. Permanent damage could be done to the body without it. Michael blinks slowly and has to put the laptop down and collect himself before reading more.

            How much did being an omega have to screw with his life? Michael rubs his face with his hands, scratching at his beard, chews on his lower lip. He didn’t fucking ask for this. He just wanted to play hockey. Then Michael remembers what Marcus had said to him on the bus ride, having watched his roommate bolt off the bus and then get led back on by Hoss. Michael had still been able to communicate at that point.

            _“It doesn’t really matter, eh? It’s like height, nothing to be ashamed of. Well, unless you’re Kaner” Laugh “It’s cool even. Don’t give me that look. You have that omega allure that all the girls and alphas find so hot._

            With a sigh, Michael gets up and to drink some water from the tap and ground himself in reality. Dwelling won’t fix anything. He wipes the water from his lips and sits back down at his laptop to start reading again.

            Having lowered estrogen long term caused a lowered libido and increased fat on the body, coupled with a decrease in muscle tone. Suppressing erestrogen for a long period of time led to mood disorders, including isolationism, failure to connect with others, and feelings of anxiety over small things. Fine motor skills began to deteriorate as well as coordination.

            Michael breathes in heavily in his nose, worrying his lips with his teeth until he tastes blood. He’d realized that he’d been doing worse in the game since he’d been traded to the Blackhawks. He’d thought that was a combination of team dynamic and being behind hockey geniuses. He’d suffered from scoring drought after scoring drought, sat out on the bench behind rookies. He’d wondered if it was a product of getting older, of not being that great of a player. Had it been those ten long years of suppressors catching up to him?

            He kept reading.

            True omegas were seen as rare and precious, being more rare than alphas with nearly 5 to 10 alphas for every one omega. Traditionally, they were collared and led around by alphas as pets or possessions, but upsurge in omega rights activism in the 70s led to increased equality. They received the same rights as any other human being in most countries and were treated with respect. The mindset of omegavism being a biological trait not unlike height or weight was widely accepted.

            Michael sits back in his chair and frowns. Picking up his cell, he rings for the doctor that prescribed him his hormone suppressers.

            “Dr. Heinz, this is Michael Frolik,” he says, easily slipping into his native Czech.

            “Hello Michael, is everything going alright? No big hockey injuries you need to tell me about?” the friendly man responds after a moment. Several mouse clicks sound over the phone.

            “No, not exactly, I was just calling because I just had my first heat and I have some questions,” Michael murmurs quietly, “Sorry to bother you, it’s just rather important.”

            “No, no, of course it’s ok. That’s why I gave you my number when you first came to me. It’s just usually your father that calls. Why did you just choose now to come off of the suppressers? Were you having issues?”

            “I lost them on a road trip, must have fallen out of my bag in a previous hotel. We had just finished a game that night and I couldn’t find them in my bag,”

            “Oh, well that’s unfortunate. When was your last dose and how long did your heat last? Usually we lower the dose progressively over a few days to avoid shocking the system, and you’ve been on them non-stop for…ten years now?”

            “My last dose was Saturday morning. I started my heat the next morning and it broke this morning.”

            “Ok. Well, you need to wait until you finish menstruating before starting up again,”

            “I was thinking of getting on a more regular heat schedule and having my next one in March before the playoffs. I did some reading on the subject and think it would be better for me. I think it may be affecting my gameplay”

            “I’m glad you say that. I know that your father was always very insistent on you being constantly on the suppressors. I’ll call in a prescription for a lower dose. Take that the day before you go back on your suppressors and the day before you choose to go off of them for your heat. How was your first heat? Did you have someone to help you through it?”

            “Yeah, a teammate of mine that has been a good mentor for the past few years helped me through it. I had to endure a plane ride during the worst of it, which was not fun, but after that it was ok. I wouldn’t mind going through it again.”

            “Glad to hear that it ended up being an experience you would like to go through again. Is that all, Michael?”

            “Yep, that’s about it. Thank you,”

            “Find time to see me next time you come to Kladno. Other than that, good luck,” Dr. Heinz says pleasantly.

            “Thanks. Bye.” Michael says and hangs up. He sits on his couch and sighs deeply. His phone held several texts from various teammates. He sends out a couple replies, giving his status that he was attending the game that night, that he was doing well. Then he gets up and makes enough food to feed a small army. He manages half of it.

            That night when he arrives at the United Center and heads into the locker room, he becomes distinctly aware of the scent he’s producing. He’d been on suppressers so long that he forgot that he smelled like an omega, but this time it’s different.

            Toews was the first one at the UC as always, and as Michael steps into the locker room, he inhales deeply and looks up. A smile crosses uncharacteristically over the captain’s face and he strides over.

            “Hey buddy, glad you could make it. I’ll need to talk to you about this more in depth later, but I just wanted to let you know it doesn’t affect my opinion of you,” Toews says and taps him on the shoulder before heading back to nag at the other players trailing in.

            As guys trail in, they patted him on the back or the head and commented on how good he looks. They say he’s got that omega glow going on. Shaw compares it to how pregnant women look and Michael has to gut punch him. A few others give him and Hoss shit, but it’s all good-natured. They all head out to warm-up.

            As Michael skates around, he loses control of his body several times. His limbs extend further and his reflexes are quicker than he’s used to. Shaking his head a bit, he just settles in to the ice beneath his skates and the puck on his stick. He has find himself in this new body.

            They don’t do well that night. The Ducks were always tough opponents. As the game went on, Michael found his limbs disobeying to the point where he got sent to the penalty box. However, he could feel a certain fluidity that he never had before. The more he played the better control he gained over his body. He and Marcus worked it out, killing every other penalty that they came up against.

            They ended up losing, but they were against the Ducks and they never managed to perform well against them. Michael sighs when he realized that his entire body is caked in sweat that stank of omega. With a grimace, he heads to the showers without a second thought.

            “Holy shit, Frolik,” falls immediately out of Shaw’s mouth as he enters the showers. Michael blinks a couple times before looking down and blushing. Besides the few forming bruises from the game, two hand shaped bruises curls from his hips, with the tips of the fingers tinged a dark purple. He had forgotten about that. Shaw looks him up and down admiringly, “You get some, Fro-Fro.”

            “Uh, thanks Shawzy,” Michael says as he continues to rinse the sweat off. Bollig shoots the short forward a withering look.

            “Mutt, go be a little shit-disturber elsewhere,” the dark man sighs exhaustedly. Shaw, full of energy despite the game, puts up his fists and shuffled toward Bollig despite being completely naked. The guy had no shame. Hell, he was sporting a few bruises that were decidedly sexual in nature.


	4. Take it Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I had a busy weekend and just now caught up on schoolwork. Next chapter will be up shortly.

            The rest of the week he played with the same combination of sloppy and loose, trying to learn his body with no real harm to his game-play as he still managed to play well without knowing how. They didn’t have a game until Friday, so he wasn’t that concerned. He dealt with other parts of his body not obeying him, like his craving for chocolate and desire to overreact emotionally

            He woke up on Thursday with terrible cramps and had to run to the bathroom. He’d stocked up on omega products, so he was set, but he didn’t feel like moving. He sat in his bed until morning skate with a heating pad on his lower back. When morning skate came up, he hauled himself out of bed and went to play. He felt better after playing, but he still waited to shower until he got home.

            When he finishes bleeding the next week, he sighs and takes his pills. He’d been popping actual vitamins in place of his usual pills, just a habit from ten years of religious pill taking. It had been offputting to swallow different shaped capsules, and Michael is glad to be back to the norm. The entire experience was interesting, but he’s just glad to put it behind him for a while longer.

            As he heads to practice, he feels his head begin to throb. As his skates hit the ice, he starts to struggle to breath. He pushes off and his center of gravity shifts abruptly. The entire rink appears sideways and his body gets dragged down by gravity too strong to defeat, even as he tries to breathe in air too heavy and thick to make it to his lungs. Just as his head hits the ice and consciousness ends, Seabrook peers worriedly into his face. He doesn’t even feel the hand that reaches out to touch his face.

            Michael wakes to the sound of a heart rate monitor and a white room. He groans and sits up, his hands trembling violently. His heart’s beating a mile a minute and he feels vaguely nauseous. He leans forward and clutches his aching head.

            “Michael Frolik?” He looks up abruptly. Toews sits hunched over in a chair behind a panel of glass, glaring at him with his dead shark eyes. Next to him, Hoss is leaning up against a wall, his face a mask free of emotion. One of the team doctor’s is standing in front of him, a small disapproving frown on his face. Michael nods.

            “Yeah?” he croaks out. His voice is trashed. The doctor looks at his clipboard.

            “You are a true omega? And you’re on suppressers?”

            “Yes,”

            “You never saw fit to include this on your medical information?”

            Michael stares at his hands, twisted together, “No. I didn’t see a situation where I would need that information.”

            “You just had a severe allergic reaction to your medication. We were able to prevent you from asphyxiating only because your teammates alerted us to your predicament. We were forced to put a tube down your throat,”

            “I had my first heat about two weeks ago and took my suppressors this morning for the first time since then,” Michael explains defensively. The doctor looks slightly taken aback by the usually meek, easy going forward’s change of tone.

            “What made you decide to go off them?”

            “They must have fallen out of my bag and I couldn’t take them. I got my heat the next day,” Michael says angrily, ringing the sheet in his hands. The doctor pauses for a moment, still looking confused.

            “Michael, how long were you planning on staying on your suppressers,”

            “I had hoped I could go my whole lifetime with them, but the reading I did says that it is dangerous for me to continue with this,” he murmurs, “I think that they’re affecting my game”. The doctor pauses and nods slowly.

            “Marian found your prescription. The suppressers you’re on are incredibly powerful and you shocked your system into developing an allergic reaction by suddenly cutting them off and suddenly restarting again. We’re doing blood work right now, but I highly doubt you’ll be able to go back on the suppressers for at least a few months,”

            Michael looks up abruptly, face slack as the sentence processes. No, he couldn’t possibly be understanding correctly. He must be getting his English wrong. Still, every time he retranslates the sentence, it comes out the same. After the meaning sinks in, Michael bolts out of his bed.

            “NO!” he cries out frantically. The doctor steps back a foot, watching him warily. Toews and Hoss both look up abruptly, startled by the sudden outburst.

            “I can’t just go around being an omega in the NHL. I refuse to! I stink like an omega, like a bitch in heat, and everyone will know and my career will be over,” he yells, gripping his head with his hands, “It’s impossible. I can’t.”

            “Frolik!” Toews snaps. Michael blinks and starts, realizing that his captain had managed to get in the room while he had been yelling. Hoss and Toews each have him by one arm, so when his head begins to go woozy and his legs give way, they catch him under the arms and push him back towards the bed. He has to pant for a few minutes to be able to get enough oxygen. Hoss sits on the bed next to him and brings Michael’s face into his shoulder, grounding him even as he gasps for breathe, heart racing.

            It takes him a while to get back under control, to tamp his feelings back down so they don’t threaten to choke him, to get his breathing to even out again. Hoss’s hand on the back of his neck only loosens when his body relaxes completely. Hoss lifts his chin from where it was rested atop Michael’s head.

            “You ok?” Toews murmurs quietly, eyes soft around the edges that he usually reserves for Kane and children. Michael nods, shaking his head a couple more times. The captain pats him on his head and goes back to his glass cage. Hoss follows suit, not having said a word in the meantime. Michael knows the man well enough to know that is how he deals with concern.

            “I’ll let you know the results of your blood work. Until then, go home, get some sleep, and try not to get riled up again. If you continue to take your suppressers, you could seriously jeopardize your health,” the doctor says quietly, “Take a few minutes more, then you can leave.”

            Michael nods and squeezes the bridge of his nose as the doctor walks out the door. Toews and Hoss come into the room and sit on his bed as he waits for the remaining wooziness to wear off.

            “I can’t be on suppressors for a few months now, so the playoffs will be interesting,” Michael explains, “Sorry for all of the trouble. I just wanted things to go back to normal and now they’re even more messed up than before.”

            Hoss lays an arm over his shoulders and smiles with the corner of his mouth, “We just want what is best for you. We do not want to see you suffering and we want you on your A game. Also, we are your friends and teammates,”

            “Thank you,” Michael murmurs and stands up shakily to dress. Hoss takes his arm off the omega’s shoulders.

            “I need to go home now to Jana. She is worried. Also, you owe her a dinner with us,”

            “Uh, this weekend?” Michael murmurs sheepishly. The redhead nods and pulls Michael into his arms for one last hug. The man may not be overly affectionate most times, but when it mattered, Marian put his emotions into his body. He kissed Michael’s forehead, ruffled his hair, and headed out.

            “Hey buddy, I’ll drive you home,” Toews murmurs softly. Michael thanks him and shakily clambers into his clothing. He hates this. He hates feeling weak. They head out to Toews’ car, stopping every now and again to clear his head of the fuzz inside. Once seated, in private, Toews begins to talk. There is a certain authority behind the tone that comes naturally and Michael finds comforting, as he finds the calming scent radiating off of his captain.

            “Hoss went to your house and took your medication. Like I said, there is nothing to worry about when it comes to being an omega. It’s great working with you,” he says quietly, “If you have your heat in the next few months and Hoss can’t help you, I’m available to help. I know that you can’t really control it and want to ask you now when you are able to give consent.”

            “I wouldn’t want to force you into something like that,” Michael says quickly. He wouldn’t have people having sex with him unwillingly just because they wanted to help him out and felt obligated.

            “It wouldn’t be forced. I’ve smelled you for the past few weeks and it’s something that I am hoping you agree to because you smell tantalizing. I would be honored to share your heat with you,” Michael has to look over at Toews to see if he was giving him shit like he would expect any other guy to be doing had he said those words. This was Toews though, so he was not giving Michael shit. The Canadian had a look of utter seriousness pasted across his entire face, like how he approached anything hockey. Michael nods. The idea of having that much unrestrained alpha focus on him was too much to resist.

            “Thank you,” Michael murmurs. They drive the rest of the way discussing PKs and face-offs. Michael is glad to hear some of the pointers, and finds that Toews listens to his technique on scoring short-handed with rapt interest. The one overarching theme for his PK was to put pressure on the opponent with the puck. Still, he just kept talking and saying what he did in detail until they reached the doorway of Michael’s apartment building. He thanks the captain once again before going up to sleep. His body is exhausted from the reaction and he’s still messed up from the medication they gave him to neutralize the hormones. He wakes the next morning better by tenfold.

            When his blood work comes back in a few days, Michael realizes glumly that he wouldn’t be back on the suppressers for a while. He’ll be going cold turkey until the doctors say he is ok to start new. Likely the offseason when they have time to try new hormone suppressants. Michael pulls up his schedule with a sigh, plots out his cycle, and prays that his next heat would fall on a day when they were off and in Chicago.


	5. Mad World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big warning for attempted rape. Also, major Toews/Frolik action in this one. Thank you all for reading this, it makes me very happy :)

            The next month, he has no such luck. He feels a tell-tale cramp as he clambers off the ice in Anaheim after a grueling defeat. Hoss and Sharp were out with injuries, resting back at Chicago with their families, making their normal sloppy gameplay against the Ducks even worse.

            Now their plane is schedule to depart the next afternoon and Michael’s rooming with Marcus on the cusp of heat. Marcus was fine with him being an omega, incredibly supportive and even standing up to those players who chirp abusive remarks about omegas, but Michael doubts he’d be ok with his roommate shoving his own fist up his ass in the next bed over, or stinking up the entire room and whimpering all night. Michael wonders if he should buy his own room for the night.

            He waits until the press leaves, sitting on the bench in his shorts with a sweatshirt covering his boner. His asshole drips wet down his thighs, adding to the sweat on him. Toews looks over at him and his eyes go completely black. The captain gives him a meaningful look before heading off with Kane to the hotel.

            As Michael heads to the hotel across the street, a soothing scent of power washes over him, but it’s entirely foreign. Someone falls into step with him and puts his hand on the back of Michael’s neck, squeezing tightly. Instinctively, Michael bows his head and rolls it to the side, exposing his jugular to the alpha. The hand slides down his back to cup his ass. Fingers dip below the waistband of his pants while the other hand guides him towards a dark alley.

            Deep in his mind, Michael’s rational brain protests. This was a stranger, the scent made it apparent. He doesn’t want to have sex with this guy. However, his mind’s hidden beneath deep layers of instinct and physiological need to breed. In his second heat ever, Michael still hasn’t figured out how to fight back the urges. As two fingers breach him, he whines high in his throat and juts his hips back, hands bracing against one of the walls in the alley.

            “No,” Michael whimpers out. He pleads to God to bring this to an end.

            A dark snarl thunders through the confined space. Michael and the alpha look up towards it. Bollig stands looming in the entrance of the alleyway. His face contorts in rage, pure and unadulterated fury. Shaw and Saad stand behind him with Saad desperately trying to rein the two infuriated forwards in just enough to prevent a murder, despite looking pretty damn pissed himself.

            The alpha snarls back challengingly, thrusts his hips forward against Michael’s ass, and Bollig breaks free, hurtling himself at the attempted rapist. The enforcer rains powerful blows on the other man, who stands no chance against the enraged hockey player. Soon, the other alpha breaks free and bolts off while tracking blood through the alley, getting over a fence at the end of the alley.

            Bollig attempts to dart after him, but Shaw grabs ahold of him bodily and prevents him from the pursuit. Bollig struggles to get out of Shaw’s arms, knuckles shining dark with blood, and the short forward knows he doesn’t stand a chance.

            “Fuck Brandon, get your shit together, we don’t need a fuckin murder on our hands. We need to help Fro,” Shaw growls. Slowly, Bollig brings himself to a complete halt. He stands absolutely still, emanating waves of power and fierce determination with only his chest moving, breathing heavily.

            “Mutt, I need you and Saader to take Michael back to the hotel. I’ll follow after and be in my room. Come up after,” Bollig grits out, remaining tightly under control. He turns his dark eyes to his teammate, exposing how much dirty, raw lust he’s keeping just barely restrained. Shaw swallows heavily, nods, and turns to Michael.

            Michael’s a shaking, sweating mess. His hair sticks out in all directions as he runs his hand through it over and over again. He stammers out apologies.

            “Really sorry guys, I n-normally h—have it completely under control. Just can’t, fuck, can’t resist this tonight,”

            “It’s ok dude, we know you can handle alphas on normal days. Today isn’t normal and you can’t help it. It’s like when you pull a muscle and just can’t get that full range of motion. Just need a hand,” Saad says quietly, reassuringly.

He’s referencing a night a few weeks ago where the team had been hanging out at a bar. A strange alpha had come up to Michael and begun whispering to him, ending with his hand squeezing the winger’s ass. Michael, not one for fights, had turned slowly, smiled devilishly, formed a perfect fist, and punched the alpha square in the jaw.

Omega or not, he was still a hockey player. The man had fallen to the floor and when he got up to retaliate, he found an entire team of Blackhawks standing up and crossing their arms. He had apologized and quickly left, blood dribbling from his mouth. Stalberg had bought him a drink for that one.

 Brandon’s grabbing one of Michael’s arms and putting his free hand on the small of the Czech’s back. Shaw’s on his phone, grabbing Michael’s other arm and the two lead him towards the hotel. As they leave the alleyway, they hear Bollig roar and the crash of metal against brick. It’s nearly enough to make Michael cream his pants, and the noise that comes out of Shaw lets him know he’s not the only one.

            “Captain Serious says we can bring Fro to his room. They’ve talked about this when he wasn’t in heat,” Shaw says quietly, hanging up the phone and pocketing it. Michael has his teeth clamped down on his lower lip to prevent any whimpers from eeking out. They shuffle him into the hotel and towards the elevators, bracketing him with their bodies. One man looks over and nods sympathetically as the sterile hotel smell becomes drenched with pheromones.

            They arrive outside of Toews door and the scent of alpha permeates through the door. Michael can’t stop the moan that escapes even as Shaw knocks on the door. Kane answers the door, looking distinctly rumpled, and smiles kind of blissfully to Michael.

            “He’s all yours, partner,” Kane grins and pats him on shoulder before walking shakily to his room next door. Saad and Shaw exchange significant looks before guiding Michael into the door.

            Toews stands in only his jeans, chugging water, and still looking serious and determined. A hickey is forming on his right pectoral and sweat shines on his skin.

            “Phew, jeez, you and Kaner don’t waste any time, do you?” Shaw grins as he and an embarrassed looking Saad walk out the door, “See you tomorrow. Use protection, kids.”

            “Oh god, please just fuck me,” Michael groans and lurches to his knees in front of Toews, mouthing at the very prevalent cock beneath the captain’s jeans. Toews groans and tangles his hand in Michael’s hair even as the omega drags the zipper down. Toews is commando, still tastes stale like lube and salty like cum. Michael doesn’t have any practice giving head. That doesn’t stop him as he slurps the dick into his mouth and cleans it off.

            Toews shoves his pants off the rest of the way before hauling Michael up by the hair and ripping his clothes off. Literally. The dress shirt Michael is wearing is rent open, sending buttons flying everywhere. Toews grabs his hair again and drags him in for a brutal, claiming kiss, which Michael yields to immediately. It feels good. It feels right. It feels like heaven. Toews moves his mouth down, chewing on Michael’s scruffy beard, to bite his neck.

            “Toews, please,” Michael groans. Toews pulls back and frowns slightly.

            “Johnny. Call me Johnny,”

            “’Kay. Michael,”

            Johnny spins him around and presses him down to the bed. Michael loses his pants expediently and kneels in the center of the bed. The captain reaches under and strokes his hard cock a few times, pulling a moan from the omega. Two fingers slide into Michael’s ass easily, testing for readiness. He moans and arches his back, spreading his legs further.

            Johnny slips a condom on and mounts him, sliding his cock deep into Michael’s ass. He blankets the forward with his body and bites the back of Michael’s neck. His hips undulate, thrusting steadily in and out.

            Michael’s first orgasm comes quickly, leaving him breathless as the alpha continues to fuck him through it and into more pleasure despite his oversensitivity.

            “There’s a good boy,” Johnny groans, “There you go,”

            Michael reaches back and grabs Johnny by the meat of his ass, yanking him into an even faster pace.

            “Give it to me, Johnny,” Michael bites out, “Fucking do it.” Johnny groans and increases his pace. He reaches under again and roughly jerks Michael off at the same fast pace. The Czech finds himself on the cusp of another orgasm and peaks again. His cock leaks out a small stream of cum onto the bed sheet.

            Johnny pulls out abruptly, causing Michael to whine loudly and start begging.

            “C’mon Michael, roll over,” Johnny groans, bodily hefting the omega over onto his back. He hooks Michael’s legs over his arms and thrusts back in, pressing Michael’s knees up towards his chest.

            Michael’s eyes roll back from the position change. He marvels at how everything seems fuller and how much more stimulation his prostate gets. Johnny kisses him hard and pumps him open with powerful thrusts.

            “Do me a favor, Michael,” Johnny groans out. Michael, blissed out and still riding pleasure up, nods. He’d do just about anything.

            “Put your fingers in my ass,”

            Michael blinks a couple times, but he’s incredibly malleable in his mind and body, and sucks two fingers into mouth before reaching around to slide them into Johnny’s ass. He thrusts them in and out, listening to Johnny moan, and feeling the knot start to slide into him.

            Michael is close. He’s so close. When he cums, Johnny shoves his legs up to his ears and slides his knot in and out three times before pushing it deep. The stretch is so intense that he slips his fingers out of Johnny’s ass and just grabs ahold . Johnny comes hard after, groaning loudly and slowing to a stop.

            They breathe hard in sync. Sweat slicks up every part of their bodies that touch each other, drip onto the sheets. Michael pants heavily, staring up at the ceiling. Johnny laughs a little.

            “What?” Michael asks, shifting his legs a little.

            “Nothing, your pupils are like the size of fucking quarters,” Johnny pants with a smile and shifts Michael’s legs down to settle comfortably on top of his lover. Michael grins out the side of his mouth, shifting his hips a bit. He is really blissed out right now.

            “You’re also insanely flexible. I try this position with…uh,” Johnny starts to say but hesitates.

            “Kane,” Michael says. Doesn’t ask. Says. Johnny blushes and looks away. Michael rolls his eyes, “What position am I in to talk? And everyone knows already, yeah? If you didn’t, everyone would be scared.”

            Johnny laughs breathlessly, “Yeah, guess we aren’t too subtle about it all. But about your flexibility.”

            “I think it’s just an omega thing. I was this flexible for a little while when I was a teenager, but since then I’ve been pretty normal compared to other guys,” Michael explains, reaching up and pushing his sweaty locks out of his eyes. He really needs a haircut and should probably clean his apartment again, maybe decorate. At least get some extra blankets.

            “Think it’s because of your suppressers?” Johnny asks, startling Michael out of his train of thought. Michael sighs quietly.

            “Probably. I think they screwed up a lot in my body. But I’m not allowed to be on any until my body stops reacting to them so bad. Being an omega now is taking getting used to,” Michael sighs and immediately pushes back the memories of what had happened right before he had ended up in Johnny’s room.

            “What’s wrong?” Johnny asks suddenly, picking up the sudden tension in his lover. Michael shakes his head.

            “Nothing,” Michael says quietly, “This is a long knot.” Johnny smiles sheepishly.

            “I don’t really have any suppressers except for a mild just in case inhaler. I think it’s starting to go down anyway,”

            Michael doesn’t mind too much. He hadn’t talked much with Hoss, mostly because the Slovak wasn’t fond of words, not that they were necessary for him to get his point across. This was kind of nice. After another moment, Johnny slides out and tosses the condom, reaching for his phone.

            With a groan, Michael stands up and stretches. He feels all tingly and light. Johnny stares at his phone and frowns.

            “Somebody attacked you on your way back?” he asks. Michael freezes and averts his eyes. Johnny furrows his brow and looks up at him, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “I was kind of pre-occupied by being in heat and didn’t want to talk about it with your dick in me,”

            “But you weren’t going to tell me,”

            “It’s not a good topic. I don’t like that I had to be weak and don’t want to complain about it. It’s bad enough that it happened,” Michael sighs and grabs one of the plastic cups from the sink. He gulps down a few cups of water to stall the conversation.

            “Don’t,” Johnny pauses before starting again, “Don’t call yourself weak. Look buddy, you can talk to people about these things. You don’t need to hide it all away.”

            Michael sighs. This is what people keep telling him about. It isn’t what he’s grown up hearing. It isn’t what he’s grown up embracing. He doesn’t know how to reconcile it with what he does know.

            “I got my heat and when I was walking back to the hotel, a strange alpha tried to rape me. I was lucky Bollig, Shaw, and Saad were there,” Michael confesses, more for Johnny’s sake than anything else. The words balk in his mouth, forming lumps in his stomach. He tenses and waits for the reaction.

            A pair of arms awkwardly wrap around him. Michael sighs softly and relaxes into the touch, leaning slightly on Johnny. His jaw loosens a little.

            “I’m sorry,”

            “You didn’t do anything,”

            “No,” Johnny murmurs, “I’m sorry the world has to do these things. I’m sorry that we haven’t evolved enough so that that kind of act isn’t even thought of. Don’t be ashamed. Don’t let it drag you down. You’re not to blame,”

            Michael feels better. It’s surprising. The roiling guilt might come back later, but for now he just doesn’t feel the tension that was there before. For now, he doesn’t have to hate himself.

            They spend the rest of the night either fucking like rabbits or passed out in a coma like sleep. Michael’s heat breaks before they wake up to get ready to board the plane back to Chicago and he makes an attempt to wake up Johnny. At one point in the night, Marcus stopped by the room and dropped off his bag. Johnny had gone to the door, wearing only a pair of hastily put on athletic shorts. Michael had still been sprawled on the bed, exhausted, with sheet hastily pulled over him. Marcus had blinked twice, saluted him, and left without saying a word.

            When Michael wakes up, he has to clamber out from the very dense, very hot, very clingy Canadian snoring in his ear. He showers quickly and tries to rouse his captain to no avail. After being swatted away, Michael is standing at the side of the bed staring, trying to figure out how to prevent Johnny from being late when a knock comes on the door.

            Kane stands in the hallway, completely dressed and still sleepy looking.

            “Morning Kane,”

            “Pat. Morning,

            “Alright Pat. You can call me Michael,”

            “Johnny not waking up?”

            “Nah, can’t figure it out,” Michael says, provoking an side grin from the blonde.

            “Yeah, it took me a while,”

            “Are we cool?”

            “What d’you mean?”

            “Are you ok with what happened last night?”

            “Yeah, of course, we talked it over before he even offered. It’s something we both want to happen and I know Johnny’s not going to take you down to the courthouse or anything. Besides, I’m hearing rumors from Jana about pleasant aftereffects,”

            Michael grins with a blush, “Yeah, she told me over dinner that he was knotting her for a week afterward,”

            Pat gives him a giant, evil grin, “Awesoooome. I got some of that last night before you came in. I’m looking forward to more.”

            Michael laugh and nods, starting to head out the door. Pat runs into the room and leaps onto the bed, making Johnny grunt and drag him down beneath the covers. He closes the door on the two and heads down to eat breakfast.

            Saad waves him over nervously to his table and they end up eating breakfast together, chatting back and forth. The entire time, Saad looks like he has something on the tip of his tongue. Finally, the 20 year old looks up from his omelet seriously.

            “Are you ok?” he asks quietly. Michael raises his eyebrows at first, but then realizes the origin of the question. His stomach tightens and he doesn’t want to eat any more.

            “Yeah. I talked with Johnny about it last night. It’s something I need to be more cautious of. Thank you, by the way,” Michael murmurs. Saad nods sharply, staring at his food.

            “I kind of regret not letting Bolly and Shawzy have at the guy,”

            “No,” Michael says firmly, causing Saad to look up, “I’m glad you reined them in. The last thing we need is a scandal, or a murder. Thank you for that as well.”

            “Yeah,” Saad says with a smile, “Your welcome.”

            They move on to topics less depressing.

            The next time he’s on the ice in the UC, he lights it up. Being on the top line with Johnny and Saad is remarkable. The chemistry between them is evident, despite the close game with the Kings playing their all. He gets two goals, sets up a beautiful one for Toews, and they are electric. They lose by one point, but Michael can’t help but leave with a smile.


	6. My Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ondrej Pavelec comes to visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken so long, I'm having a bout of writers block.

            Seeing Ondrej catches him completely and utterly by surprise. Any other time, Michael would be delighted to see his childhood friend. Any other time, Michael would have lamented the fast paced season that kept him from seeing his family. In a way, Michael still misses his family, but he’s grateful that he could put off telling them about his hormone problems. He wants to figure this out on his own and focus on hockey with no other distractions. They’re a favorite for the Stanley Cup this year, after all.

            Ondrej’s been winning the hearts of Winnipeggers in his net and has likewise been busy. This is why it comes as such a surprise when Michael gets the surprise knock on the door while he’s sitting around on his laptop.

            Stumbling up out of his mess of blankets on the couch, Michael opens the door with a frown. The familiar face grins at him, which makes his face break open into a beaming smile unconsciously. They collide immediately into a fierce hug.

            “Pavs, how’d you get time to come down, this season’s been fucking intense,” Michael grins out, falling into his mother tongue with ease.

            “I was homesick and we had a few days off. The family hasn’t had time to come here nor I to go to Kladno,” Ondrej replies. They break the hug and Michael leads him into his apartment. It had taken less than a week for his apartment to descend into bachelor dishevelment.

            “Baby-Jagr, are you dating an omega?” Ondej asks curiously, sniffing the air. Michael freezes, his smile frozen in place but far from genuine.

            “Nah man, why do you ask?” Michael responds, stiffly heading to his fridge to pull two bottles of beer out.

            “It smells like one in here. I always thought you were a neutral with maybe some omega tendencies, so it’s just odd that you’d shack up with one. Also, not telling me,” Ondrej smirks as he finishes dropping his duffel and kicking his shoes off.

            “Nah man, why would I go for an omega, they’re way too clingy,” Michael bluffs, fiddling around with the bottle opener for longer than necessary, just hoping to avoid eye contact until the conversation changed direction.

            “I dunno man, whatever floats your boat,” Ondrej murmurs as he looks around, “Why don’t you have a roommate again?”

            “Didn’t know anyone in Chicago and this place is relatively cheap,” Michael answers, “Not like you can talk, loner,” relieved for the change in conversation. He turns with the two beers in his hands. Ondrej is looking through his barren cupboards, nosey asshole. Michael holds out the beer.

            Ondrej looks at it and reaches towards his hand, but at the last second, his hand darts further up to grab Michael’s arm. With lightning quick goalie reflexes, Ondrej yanks Michael’s wrist, pulling the shorter man towards him and pinning him against his chest. Ondrej sticks his nose against the side of Michael’s neck and inhales deeply.

            “You’re a true omega,” Ondrej states just as Michael wrenches himself free. Ondrej stares at him with a face of utter disbelief.

            “So?” Michael averts his eyes to the ground as he spits the question out defensively. A strong arm comes up and grips him by the collar, thumping him against the wall.

            “I’ve been your best friend since we were kids and you never thought to tell me?” Ondrej asks incredulously. Michael keeps glaring at the ground.

            “It wasn’t your business,” he grits out. Ondrej drops his collar and juts his bottom jaw out with a huff.

            “Okay,” he says, putting his hands up and turning, “I see how it is. I’ll be leaving now.”

            Michael grits his teeth as Ondrej shoves his shoes onto his feet and snatches up his bag. Just as the goalie is walking out the door, Michael bolts.

            “Pav, Pav, wait,” Michael grabs ahold of his friend’s arm, “Ondrej,” he says desperately. Ondrej huffs and waits, still halfway out the door, but he doesn’t rip away, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. My dad told me never to go off the suppressors and never tell anyone. I was ashamed of it. It was never my intention to get off the suppressors.”

            “Did you hear how fucking dangerous it is, asshole?” Ondrej growls quietly, closing the door and turning to his friend, “That shit fucks up your entire system.”

            “I didn’t know about any of the side effects, I didn’t ever research them until I couldn’t take my pills one night a couple weeks ago and got my heat the next morning,” Michael explains, the words clogging up in his mouth a little, but once he gets going, he can’t stop, “Hoss helped me through the heat and then I did research into it. I think it’s been really screwing up my game and I had been planning on starting a regular heat schedule. That all got fucked up because when I went back on my pills and had a massive allergic reaction and now I can’t go back on any suppressors until my body accepts them again,”

            Michael starts curling in on himself, his voice getting higher and higher as he spills his emotions about what’s happened to him. Ondrej’s face has softened and he gently guides Michael to the middle of couch, snatching the beers from the counter and returning to the couch again. Michael accepts his and takes a hearty gulp.

            “Have you talked to your dad yet?” Ondrej asks. Michael viciously shakes his head. Ondrej plops down next to him and throws an arm around his shoulders. There’s a part of Michael that is infinitely grateful that Ondrej isn’t being weird about all of this.

            “No, he’s the only one who knew beforehand, but I have no idea how he’ll react to this news,” Michael murmurs, “He was so keen on no one ever knowing and he’ll be so upset,”

            “You can’t keep it from him forever,” Ondrej tells him knowingly, “You may be able to keep it until the offseason, but as soon as you head home, he’ll smell it on you. And that’s only if you don’t make it to the Stanley Cup. You’ll want to tell him before he finds out himself.”

            “I know, I just don’t know how to tell him,” Michael says, “I’m…scared.”

            Ondrej squeezes his shoulders tightly and looks at him with a kind smile, “Your dad might be shocked at first and react poorly, but he only did it because he wants the best for you. He’ll accept it when he sees how it doesn’t hurt you,” Ondrej’s face darkens, “Has it affected you poorly?”

            Michael turns his head to the side, brain working overtime. His throat closes up and he feels like he wants to puke as the memory resurfaces. He’s woken up several times, trying to scream but unable to get a sound out of his mouth. He doesn’t want Ondrej to think badly of him. He doesn’t want that same revulsion he feels from himself on the face of his childhood friend. He doesn’t want to expose himself any further.

            “People chirp me on the ice about it,” Michael says finally, “I get a lot of rude comments from alphas. However, I’m better on the ice than I’ve been in a long time,”

            Ondrej stares at him suspiciously, nailing him with the goalie gaze of intuition, “There’s something else.”

            “I don’t want to talk about it,” Michael says softly, “It’s too fresh. Maybe in the future.”

            It’s a sign of how well they know each other that Ondrej doesn’t push him. Instead, they slip easily into familiar conversation for the next few hours. After a while, they come to a consensus to head to a bar.

            They settle in a little dive, get their beers, and claim a small table in the back. Michael smiles as nostalgia of the old days comes back, when he and Ondrej would hang out in a cozy little bar in Kladno to talk. Ondrej was relatively normal for a goalie, but those quirks he did have allowed him and Michael to get closer than Michael would have to other players.

            Ondrej looks over at him slyly, beer foam crusted on his upper lip that he reaches up to wipe off as he asks, “So who’ve you tapped because of these newfound hormones,”

            Michael nearly chokes on mouthful. Foam goes up his nose and he has to hack up the fluid that found its way down his windpipe while simultaneously rubbing the tingling out of his nose. Ondrej laughs and pats him on the back. Michael glares goodnaturedly at his buddy.

            “Well, Hoss helped me in the first heat,”

            “No shit, the ginger Slovak?” Ondrej asks in disbelief, grin spreading across his mug, “What was he like?” Michael nods and glances around. They’re talking in Czech, but he can’t help the instinct. No one seems to understand or care in the slightest what the two Europeans in the corner are giggling about.

            “He’s not one for pillow talk, but he’s got the self-restraint of a monk,” Michael murmurs, “I never would have pegged him for an alpha, but he’s on suppressors that are nearly as high as mine were. He’s also hung like a Hoss even without the knot.”

            Ondrej, to his credit, doesn’t look absolutely disgusted and laughs instead, “So his nickname holds true.”

            “Oh, he’s not the only one I’ve gotten to experience,” Michael proclaims smugly, sipping his beer. Ondrej’s eyes dart up and he holds up a finger.

            “I need another beer,” he murmurs before pounding back the last three gulps and heading to the bar. When he returns with his beer in hand, Michael sits there grinning.

            “Ok, get that shit eating grin off your face and fucking tell me so I can drink more and forget the details you’ll also tell me,” Ondrej says, waving Michael on.

            “Toews,” Michael proclaims and pauses for the effect. Ondrej’s eyes bulge out. He calmly picks up his beer and chugs down half of it.

            “You’re kidding me,”

            “It’s the truth,” Michael smirks, “He’s a lot clingier and more talkative than Hoss. Also, he’s with Kane.”

            “From what you’ve told me about them, I’m not surprised,” Ondrej murmurs, “You know, this kind of explains why you haven’t really had a girlfriend despite being a hot commodity.”

            “They’re hot, but I’ve been really focused on hockey my whole life,” Michael shrugs, “I’m not really gay, I don’t think…”

            “That’s fine too, man,” Ondrej dismisses with a wave of his hand, “Everyone has their own thing,”

            By the time they close out their tab for the night, the two Czechs are sloshing against each other. They wander back to Michael’s apartment and clamber into Michael’s bed like they used to when they were kids.

            Ondrej tries to sprawl over onto Michael’s part of the bed, so the forward has to shove him back. This sparks an impromptu kicking and shoving match, coupled with plenty of giggling because they were serious men, in which Michael ends up on the floor in a heap.

            “C’mon Pavs,” Michael tries to grumble through his giggling, “Move over or I’ll have to steal all my blankets and sleep on the couch.”

            Ondrej relents and moves back to his side of the bed. They fall asleep shortly after, alcohol preventing any more thoughts.

            The next morning, Ondrej heads out early. He ruffles Michael’s hair and gives him a big hug.

            “If you get time, come up to see me in Winnipeg. It’s a great city and I’ll show you all the good places,” Ondrej smirks. Michael nods, but doesn’t think he’ll have time. The Hawks were in it to win it this year. A thought crosses his mind.

            “You’re the only one from Kladno to know, ok?” Michael murmurs, “I promise I’ll tell them, but wait for me, ok?”

            “Yeah, yeah, I know baby-Jagr,” Ondrej responds, “I’ll see you around, buddy.”

            Ondrej leaves and Michael sighs. One down, dozens to go.


End file.
